Part 2

I come! I come! with the song of the thrush, To wake with its sweetness the morning’s blush; To hang on the hawthorn my blossoms fair, And strew o’er each field my flowrets rare. The lark, he is up, on his heavenward flight, And the leaves are all gemm’d with diamonds bright; The hills are all bathed in purple and gold, And the bleating of flocks is heard from the fold.

Go forth! go forth! for the spring-time is come, And makes in the North his bright sunny home; The sky is his banner—the hills his throne— Where in sunshine robed, he sits all alone; In the depths of the woods his footsteps are seen By each moss-covered rock and tell-tale stream; And his voice is heard through each leaf-clad tree, In the plaint of the dove and the hum of the bee.

* * * * *

THE REEFER OF ’76.

BY THE AUTHOR OF “CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR.”

THE SEA-FIGHT.

“Sail ho!” sung out the look-out, one sunny afternoon, as we bowled along before a pleasant gale. In an instant the drowsiest amongst us was fully awake. The officers thronged the quarter-decks; the foretop-men eagerly scanned the horizon; the skulkers stole out from beneath the bulwarks where they had been dozing, and the late quiet decks of the schooner, which but a moment since lay hushed in the drowsy silence of a sultry afternoon, now swarmed with noisy and curious gazers.

“Whereaway?” asked the officer of the deck.

“Broad on the weather-beam.”

“Can you make her out?”

“A heavy square-rigged vessel.”

“Do her royals lift?”

“Aye, sir; but only this moment.”

“How does she bear?”

“West and by west sou’ west.”

“A West Indiaman, perhaps.”

“Ay, sir, I can see her to’-gallants now: they belong to a heavy craft.”

“Pipe all hands to make sail, boatswain.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“The strange sail is hauling up into the wind,” sung out the look-out.

“Ay—take the glass, Mr. Parker, and spring into the cross trees to see what you can make of her. All hands aloft—loose and sheet home fore and maintopsails. Merrily, there. How does she look, Mr. Parker?”

“She seems a heavy merchantman by her rig; ah! now her topsails lift, large and square, with a cross in them. It’s not the rig of a man-o’-war.”

“Ease off the sheet—man the lee-braces—hard down the helm.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” said the quarter-master, as he whirled around the wheel, and the gallant craft danced lightly up into the wind, like a racer beneath the spur; while the men stood at their respective stations eagerly waiting the command.

“Round there, with the foretop-sail—haul in fore and aft—belay all!” came in quick succession from the quarter-deck, as we bowed before the breeze, and dashing the spray on either side our cutwater, went off almost dead in the wind’s eye. The sharp wind, as it sang through our cordage, and the momentary dashing of the sea across our bows, as we thumped against the surges, afforded a pleasant relief to the occasional creaking of the shrouds, or the dull monotonous sounds of the water washing lazily alongside, which we had been listening to for the last hour. The change had an exhilarating effect upon our spirits, which was perceptible as well among officers as among men. Besides, we were all eager for a prize. Every man, therefore, was at his station, and a hundred eager faces looked out from the forecastle, the tops, or wherever their owners chanced to be. The captain, too, was upon deck, scanning the stranger with a scrutinising eye.

“Can you see her hull yet, Mr. Parker?” he asked.

“No, sir—her courses show to the very foot—but here it comes—six ports on a side, sir, though they look like painted ones.”

“She’s setting her light sails.”

“Every one of them, sir: and wetting down their mainsail.”

“How are her decks?”

“Crowded, sir. There’s the glancing of a musket as I live; ah, of a dozen. She carries troops, sir, I fancy.”

“A transport?”

“Aye, sir!”

The interest had gone on deepening, during these rapid questions and answers, until at my last reply a suppressed buzz ran around the ship. No one spoke, but each looked into his messmate’s face, and it was obvious that the question, “could we capture our opponents, or would we ourselves become the prey?” was uppermost in every mind. But the person most interested in the event was apparently the least concerned of any; and without moving a muscle of his face, the captain leisurely closed his glass, and turning, with a smile, to his lieutenant, said,—

“We shall be likely to have a sharp brush, Mr. Lennox; in fact our men are getting rusty, and we want something of a close-contested battle to burnish them up. We shall open the magazine, and go to quarters directly.”

Every thing that could be made to draw, was by this time set, and we were eating into the wind after the stranger with a rapidity that promised even to the most sanguine of us a speedy realisation of our hopes. As we gained upon the merchantman, the crowded state of his decks became more and more apparent, and we could plainly detect, by means of our glasses, that every exertion, even to wetting down the sails to the royals, was being made on board of him to escape. But all was in vain. Few vessels afloat could beat us on the tack we were now going, nor was it long before we had the chase within range of our long Tom.

“She hasn’t shown her bunting as yet,” said Captain Stuart, “but we’ll throw a shot across her, run up our flag, and see what answer she makes.”

The long gun was cast loose, the foot of the foresail lifted, and the gunner applying the match, the ball went whizzing on its way; while at the same moment our flag was run up to the gaff, and blowing out to leeward, disclosed the arms of our colony.[1] For a few minutes the shot might have been seen ricocheting along the waves, until it plunged into the sea a few fathoms on the larboard of the stranger. Still, however, no ensign was shown by the chase.

“Pitch a shot into her this time, Mr. Matchlock,” ejaculated the skipper, addressing the gunner, “and see if that will bring her out.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” said the old fellow, squinting along his piece, and aware that he was one of the best marksmen afloat in any service, “ay, ay, we’ll awake them to a sense of their condition presently; we’ll drive the cold iron through and through the reprobates: too high, a little more starboard—steadily all, and mark the mischief,” cried the old fellow, applying the match. The rest of the sentence was lost in the deafening report of the cannon; a sheet of fire was seen streaming out an instant from the mouth of the piece; and as the pale white smoke sailed slowly eddying away to leeward, the old gunner might have been discerned, bending eagerly forward, and shading his eyes with his hands, as he gazed after the path of the ball.

“By the Lord Harry how it makes the splinters fly!” said the old fellow, as the shot, striking full on the quarter of the chase, went through and through her deck.

“And there goes her flag at last,” said Westbrook, as the ensign of England floated from the quarter of the merchantman, while at the same moment a cloud of smoke puffed from his stern, and a shot, skimming along the deep, toward us, plunged into the waters a cable’s length ahead.

“We’re beginning to make him talk, eh!” chuckled the gunner, waxing warm in his work. “Let him have it again now—ah! that will bring out his teeth—give it to ’em, you old sea-dog,” he continued, familiarly patting his piece, “and by the continental Congress, he’s got it among his sky-scrapers. There come his to’-gallant sails—hurrah!”

The fight now became one of intense interest, for the merchantman perceiving that escape was impossible, seemed determined to resist to the last, and kept up a brisk and well-directed fire upon us from his stern-guns. Their range not being, however, so great as that of our piece, we were enabled after a while to regulate our distance so as to cripple the chase effectually without sustaining any damage ourselves. But it was not long that we were suffered to maintain the combat on our own terms. Worried beyond endurance by the havoc made among his spars, the chase soon put his helm up, wore round, and hauling up his courses in gallant defiance, came down boldly toward us.

“We shall have it now,” whispered Westbrook as he stood by the division where he commanded, “they must outnumber us two to one—but we’ll give them a lesson for all that.”

“Ay! hand to hand, and foot to foot, will be the struggle, and God defend the right.”

No sooner had the chase altered his course, and shown a determination to accept our challenge, than the firing on both sides ceased, and the two ships steadily but silently approached each other.

The eve of a battle is a solemn time. However men may talk in their jovial hours, or feel amid the maddening excitement of the contest itself, there is something inexpressibly awe-inspiring in the consciousness that we are soon to be arrayed in deadly hostility against our fellow-creatures; and now as I gazed along the silent decks, and beheld our brave fellows gazing, as if spell-bound, upon the approaching foe, I perceived that their emotions were akin to my own. Yet there was nothing of fear in those hardy bosoms. There was a compression of the lip, an occasional flashing of the eye, and a half-suppressed word now and then among the men, which showed that amid all their other feelings, a deep, unflinching detestation of their tyrants was uppermost in their hearts. At times their eyes would glance proudly along our sanded deck, with all its apparatus of cutlasses, boarding pikes, and cannon balls, and then turn indignantly, and almost triumphantly, toward the enemy, now bearing down upon us. Meantime a death-like silence hung upon them; not a sound was heard except the sighing of the winds through the hamper, and the dash of the waters under our bows.

The chase had now approached almost within musket shot, and yet no demonstration of an attack had been made. We could see that the chase was alive with men. From every port, and look-out, and top, a score of faces warned us of a bloody battle. Each man was at his post, determination stamped on his countenance. As I gazed upon this formidable array of numbers, and beheld the comparatively gigantic hull of our adversary, steadily advancing on us, like some portentous monster of the deep, I almost trembled for our victory; but when my eye fell again on the brawny chests, and determined visages of our gallant crew, I felt that nothing but extermination could prevent them from hoisting our own flag above the proud ensign of our foe which now flapped lazily in the breeze. But my reverie—if such it might be called—was cut short by perceiving a sheet of flame rolling along the Englishman’s side, and, while his tall spars reeled backward with the recoil, a shower of shot came hurtling toward us. In an instant the gaff of our mainsail fell; our sails were perforated in various places; and a cannon ball striking us amid-ships, cut through both bulwarks, and laid one poor fellow dead upon the deck. The men started like hounds when they see their prey.

“Stand to your guns—my men!” thundered the captain in this emergency, “let not a shot be fired until I give the word. Bear steadily on your helm, and lay us across their bows.”

The moments that elapsed before this endeavor could be consummated seemed to be protracted into an age. Our gallant fellows could, meanwhile, scarcely be restrained within the bounds of discipline. As shot after shot came whizzing over us, the crew grew more and more restive, casting uneasier glances at our commander at every successive fire. Several of the spars had by this time been wounded, and our hull showed more than one evidence of the foe’s skill in gunnery. At length a shot came tearing through the bulwark but a short distance from where I was stationed, and after knocking the splinters wildly hither and thither, struck a poor fellow at his quarters, and laid him mangled and bleeding across his gun. I ran to him. One of his shipmates had already lifted the man’s head up, and laid it carefully in the lap of a comrade. The face was dreadfully pale—the features unnaturally distorted. Agony, intense and irresistible, was written in every line of the face. The motion, however, revived him, and he opened his eyes with a groan. Unsettled as was their gaze, they took in the anxious group around him. He saw, on every face, the deepest commiseration. His glazing eye lightened for a moment.

“How are you, Jack?” said the shipmate, in whose lap he lay.

The dying man shook his head mournfully.

“Don’t you know me, Jack?” said his messmate. There was no answer. The eyes of the sufferer were closed. “God knows I little thought you were to die thus!” continued his shipmate, with emotion. “For twenty years, in gale and calm, in winter and summer we have sailed together, and now you’re going to part company, without being able even to bid an old messmate farewell,” and he wiped the cold sweat from the dying man’s brow. “Jack, Jack, don’t you know me? Can I do nothing for you?”

The sufferer opened his eyes, and made a gesture as if he wished to be lifted up. His desire was gratified. He looked around eagerly until his eyes fell upon the enemy.

“Bury—me,” he faintly articulated, “after you’ve—hauled—down her flag. And—and Rover,” and his voice, for an instant, became stronger, “send the prize-money to the old woman—and—a—a.” He gasped for breath.

“What?—in God’s name what?” But the senses of the dying man began to wander.

“Speak!—Jack—for the love of God!”

“A—alls—we—e—el!” murmured the man, brokenly. He ceased. A quivering motion passed across his face. His shipmate gently laid his head upon the deck.

“He’s dead—and now boys, for revenge!” said Rover, as he started to his feet.

The crisis had come. So rapidly had the foregoing scene passed, and so intently had we all been gazing upon the dying man, that, in the interval, the schooner had gained a position on the bow of the enemy, and as the sturdy seaman rose up from beside his murdered companion, we ran short across her in a raking position; and before the words had died upon the air, the long-expected command came from the quarter-deck, to open our fire.

“Fire!” shouted our leader, “one and all—pour it into them—remember you fight for your all!”

“Give it to ’em like h—l, my boys,” thundered the gunner, “that’s it; there goes her sprit-sail yard—hurrah!”

It was a terrific scene. No sooner had the signal been given, than, as with one accord, our gallant fellows poured in their deadly fire. Every shot told. Stung almost beyond human endurance by the restraint in which they had been kept, and maddened by the spectacle of a messmate slain at his post before he could fire a shot, our crew fought like demons rather than men, jerking their guns out as if they were playthings in their hands. Nothing could withstand them. Not a shot was wasted on the rigging of the foe: every one was driven along her crowded decks. The slaughter was immense. Man and boy, sailor and marine, officers and crew went down before that murderous, incessant fire. The flashes of the cannon, the roars of the batteries, the crashing of spars, and the shrieks of the wounded and the dying rose up together in terrific discord. Meanwhile the thick clouds of smoke settling down upon us hid the hull of the enemy completely from sight. Nothing but her masts, rising tall and gallantly above the dim canopy of her decks, could be seen. Directly one of these was seen to stagger; then it swayed to and fro a moment; and directly giving a lurch, the whole lofty fabric of spars and hamper went tumbling over her side.

“Hurrah, boys! we have her now,” shouted the captain of a gun near me, “there goes her fore-mast—let her have it again,” and, jerking out his piece at the word, another deadly discharge of grape was sent hurtling along the enemy’s decks.

By this time the two vessels had got afoul, the bowsprit of the foe having become entangled with the shrouds of our mainmast. Unable longer to resist the whirlwind of grape poured along their decks, the crew of the enemy determined on making a desperate effort to retrieve the tide of battle by boarding, and gathering suddenly forward, at the call of their leader, they made an instantaneous rush upon us. But their attack was as quickly met. A momentary vacillation of the veil of smoke hanging over the deck of the foe, by disclosing the numbers gathering upon her forecastle, betrayed to our gallant leader the intention of the enemy. He saw at a glance that the attack must be repulsed speedily or that we were lost. The vessels were already rapidly swinging around side to side, and in a few moments the overwhelming numbers of the Englishman would be enabled to leap upon our decks, with almost as much ease as if we were moored along side of their craft in port. Not a moment was to be lost. Either the enemy must be repulsed at once, and so promptly as to preclude all future attempts of the like character, or else we must lose every advantage we had already gained, and be overpowered finally by the mere force of numbers. What I have taken so long to describe, flashed through our minds with inconceivable rapidity. The captain did not hesitate a moment. Waving his sword aloft he thundered,

“Boarders ahoy! muster at the main—to beat back the enemy,” and then in a lower tone he added, “charge the long gun to the muzzle with grape—”

Obedient at the word our gallant fellows hurried to their stations, and stood eagerly awaiting the onset of the foe; who having, by this time, mustered on the fore part of their craft, stood ready to spring upon our decks at the first opportunity. That was now at hand. The two ships, which had momentarily receded, now rolled together, and every man of the enemy’s crew strained his muscles to their utmost tension, as he prepared to spring on our decks.

Never shall I forget that sight. Clustered around the fore-shrouds and on the cat-head, and covering the whole space between, were the dense masses of the enemy, their dark frowning countenances, and glittering weapons forming prominent objects in the spectacle. They had sprung up, as if by magic, from a score of lurking places, and gathering at the call of their commander, now stood with threatening numbers about to leap upon us. To resist such a whirlwind of cutlasses with our little crew was well nigh madness. But our leader had already determined to make their very numbers the cause of their ruin. At this moment, when the two ships approached each other, he turned rapidly to the gunner, and shouted,

“Give it to them with the long gun—fire!”

The effect was electric. With a noise, like the bursting of a volcano, the instrument of death went off, belching forth its fiery torrent with resistless fury. An avalanche could not have swept off its victims more ruthlessly than did that discharge disperse the foe. Nothing could withstand that hurricane of grape. Its effect was awful. Clearing a lane through and through the crowd upon the forecastle of the enemy, it tore its passage onward amid the spars and hamper of the ship with resistless violence, almost drowning the shrieks of the dying, and the curses of the wounded in its terrific crash. The enemy’s boarders staggered and fell back, and before they could rally the two ships fell asunder. While they were still wavering, our hamper became disentangled, and we once more floated free of the enemy. As we passed along her side our fire was renewed with redoubled impetuosity, while the Englishman, crippled as he was by our last frightful discharge, could only feebly reply.

“Pour it in, my lads,” shouted the gunner again, “and we’ll soon bring her to quarters—give it to ’em now, for the honor of old Plymouth.”

“God save the king;” came hoarsely back from the enemy, “blow the rebels out of water.”

The speaker was standing just abaft the mainmast, and had distinguished himself, during the attempt to board us, by his vehement gestures, and apparent influence over the men. I noticed that the eye of Westbrook watched him keenly as he spoke. Suddenly an officer approached and gave him an order. He looked around, started from his protected situation, and dashed up the main-shrouds, with the intention, as we now perceived, of reeving a rope which had been shot away, and the loss of which prevented the main-topsail from being hoisted to the cap.

“They’re about to make off,” said I to Westbrook, “he’s a daring fellow to go aloft in this fire, any how.”

“He’s not so sure of success,” said Westbrook, “for they’ll have a shot at him from the forecastle.”

The man had by this time, with almost inconceivable rapidity, effected his purpose, although more than one musket had been fired at him from our craft. He now turned to descend, but proud of his achievement, he could not resist the temptation of a momentary bravado. He took off his hat and gave a hurrah.

“It’s your last boast,” cooly said Westbrook, as he snatched a musket, and lifting it to his shoulder, glanced his eye along the barrel, and fired. I shuddered involuntarily, even though an enemy was the victim, for I knew Westbrook’s deadly aim. My presage was true. The man staggered on his footing an instant; made an abortive grasp at the air instead of a rope; and falling backward, struck the shrouds, and re-bounded into the sea. He squattered a moment on the water like a wounded duck, and then sank forever, leaving only a small dark stain of blood upon the wave to tell where he disappeared.

By this time the fire of the enemy had almost ceased, and, even amid the smoke of battle, we could see that her scuppers were literally running with blood. An ineffectual attempt was now made to escape from us, but we ran down upon the enemy at the first symptom, and re-commenced our fire with unabated fury. Their rigging was soon terribly cut up, as we now aimed principally at that. As a few moments removed all possibility of an escape on the part of the Englishman, and as we had suffered ourselves in our hamper somewhat from his fire, we then ran off a short distance, and began to repair our damages. An hour and a half sufficed to place us in nearly as good a condition as before going into battle, when running down upon the enemy we once more opened our battery. The first gun, however, had hardly been fired, before the British ensign, which had doggedly been kept flying, was hauled down. I was despatched to board the capture. As I stepped upon her decks a scene of desolation met my eye. My path was literally slippery with blood. Scarcely a man was on deck. The helmsman, a single officer, two marines, and a few common seamen, were the only ones, of all that numerous crew, who were not wounded or dead. God knows a more terrific slaughter I had never participated in! I think I behold it at this day.

[1] The present national flag, consisting of the stars and stripes, was not adopted until 1777, when Congress passed a resolution to that effect. Prior to that time each commander used whatever device suited his fancy. The first ensign of Paul Jones is said to have been a pine tree, with a rattle-snake coiled at the foot, about to strike, and the motto, “don’t tread on me.” The arms of a colony, as in this instance, were often used.—Eds.

* * * * *

THE HAUNTED CASTLE.

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.